To die, to sleep, to sleep, to dream... what if I fall in love, then what, am I meant to just sit back and laugh? The clock ticks the time dies the silence burns then the cows return and all is well. A double happy or two, slid up the bumper - more than a kaboom but less than a bang easy happiness, so simple - confusion much less, the death of self-respect and then no! I can't believe I won't believe this jigsaw piece is not my own... someone else's puzzle, it even smells different. Roses not growing, not dying, not seeded nor scented, a lot of life, a big chunk of apple pie complete with cinnamon aroma - once eaten, turns bitter in purple stomach, twisted, seething, snaking, dying, slipping through fingers, the sand drops, so hard to pick up again... and so it is left to melt on the red planet, left to cry, left to weep for its own uselessness and dead end... love has gone in search of another ocean, and that's what they say - life's a beach, and then you die
Poetry in motion happens all the time! Why did I never notice? - but that's just like me, can never see the forest for the trees. You just have to know it is there, to seek it out - every minute is a potential song lyric, a flower - dead or alive, who cares, it all counts in the whole expanse of things - if I died tomorrow it would be vital. That is why the end is more important than the beginning. It is the aftertaste, the final speaker, the 'amen' that always echoes in the mind for months after... waterbaby, caesarean, it all fades to black really - who cares if you were fat? Not me, the criteria are all gradually picked off one by one - eventually not even your ugly toes have an effect on me, just the fact that I LOVED YOU is left whispering against your cold cheek and that I have LOST you forever, I can reach and cry and break but nobody will take any notice because I missed the boat, the dinghy, the whole shebang was never even given a fleeting GLANCE because I just thought... what a weak answer... I just thought that that stuff was for deathbeds, you know it's coming so you can say anything, the final breath is so romantic. But you didn't work it that way did you God? No no, you came like a thief in the night and stole something so dear without even a hint, a chance to say what I meant and not... what you just say, in the normal scheme of things. He died in poetry, he died among flowers, but it is no easier on me - he's still gone isn't he? So even, even the last line of this poem didn't change anything in the end, and what an end
I cannot believe I visit this place again. It smells so much the same and I can even see the corner in which my death began - and only ended, just days ago... and yet I dive in the deep end once more, clairvoyancy nothing short of perfect - KNOWING of my untimely demise but still grasping holding on for dear life to the sliver of hope that says it could happen, it could happen, you just need to get out of here... what can I do to make me understand that it won't, ever? He is just the slippery poison, the next generation you were born too early it is that which you will have to live with. Oh, I know it hurts sweetie but that's just the way love goes sometimes, you win some and lose some - can I help it if it's all snakes and no ladders? One thing's for sure your obsession is a python it will strangle and stuck and hold until you hurt ALL OVER AGAIN but there is no way I can convince you not to do this until he says you're really ugly even then you'll be back for more I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU (Which is odd because I am you and who could know you better than me?) I wish you'd stop this self-bruising self-destroying crusade that you think brings you joy but you cannot for the life of you explain the morning sickness the sleepless nights the hurting suffering slow-death illness YOU CALL THIS PAIN LOVE think again bright eyes
I know now that I will never get the Boy Wonder. Don't be sick of me please, I know now it's true... I once thought maybe we would end up together because I loved him so much, but that turns out not to be enough - I have lost him to "higher" things, he has never been in my league really, anyway. I will die wondering how well we would have done and there's time to fix it NOW before the end confronts my tear-streaked face but there is no POINT no FUTURE nothing but racking sobs and small hurts and resorting to being him to obatin him... that is how my life will end, nothing ventured, nothing gained, a whole world lost amidst a reassuring echoo that says emptily "well at least you had a mind." WASTED ON ME UNLESS I CHANGE
[abridged]
She thought I was joking but I wasn't - really - I would do it, I promise I would live up to my word that'd show her good, eat your heart out Huck Finn, I'd be dead in a whisper. To she what she would do then. That would be good and I bet I bet she wouldn't bat an eye there would not even be a sliver of panic or worry more (relief) and finally they could honestly play Happy Families rather than Rickety Kate... I wonder I live to wonder how long it took them to realise they'd drawn THAT card, the black sheep, the nigger from the bargain bin was always going to be me, it was just, I ended up here. I feel almost pity the way their lives sank when I appeared in the blazing anti-climax glory only to... what RIGHT had I to disappoint like that? Taint the lives of these poor people... I should have been born to the Ansett man, Bill Gates, Kerry Packer - all had their fill and could afford to throw me at padded walls... these people, so poor it's patheticness reeks through their clothing... what a blow to them. What can I even say? They are stuck with the shadow of the problem child forever and will NEVER understand why this should happen to them of all people so they sad their need for nice normal in the two other princesses but there will not be an excuse in all INFINITY for not loving me there is nothing they can say ever to make this better. They do not WANT me and that is all there is to it, that is all it boils down to and the only absolute no doubt in my mind that it would be better should I leave they hate my whole existence what more can I do? I don't even do all that much wrong, I mean really am I not the ideal non-biere non-drogue jeune, give or take a few oddities? I know there is no ignoring the fact that I am employee X and it is my job to be the defect, the reject but don't elephant men deserve their share of hugs? They think love is all paying for school trips and washing dirty undies they could not be more mistaken but there's no telling adults is there, no getting the love I need and that is true suffering on earth
There is absolutely no feeling like this - a spiky tree sits in the middle of our lounge but does not smile as this is not a merry Christmas. The sweat on my sole tells me there is nothing left to do. This room is big and I must not tarnish it; however there is a big log down the bottom near the road that would welcome my blood so I may just pay a visit before Rudolph's final hoof settles on my roof - he won't complain, it's more blessings for the other angels and once again the thorn is gone. I am not what I am - I laugh obesely but do not feel it, I cannot foresee ever feeling it - I have indigestion from eating nothing, whilst the princess drinks coffee and gets fat from being remembered. My low voice echoes in this room and that is beautiful but only makes me feel worse, they are too different, whilst I sniff and purr and dream the opposition halfback simply lifts his leg and urinates on the scoreboard and apologizes profusely only to come back next week for a rerun. That is not for me, give me a laden peach tree and enough tears to illustrate my point and that'll do me for eternity. My eyes need a rest, my stomach a fill, my heart needs a bandaid and a whisper, just a tissue soft memo, just a loving prod in the arm... but it will not come. I knew there was something I needed to pick up after work, never mind I'll get it Boxing Day... forgotten
Oh my sweet, how I long to touch your lips and see your smile... has it been too long? I promise you, forever is not enough to darken my heart... you could never be too late. Yet, yet somehow you are, somehow I am now in a different web, I can never break this spirit... please understand me do, I love you more than life itself, the stars in the sky, the dew on the grass... yet I cannot. I snap inside as I tell you but can't you see this? Can't you see how I cannot hurt him, ever? This rut is a voluntary one and I do NOT say I enjoy it, enjoy this play, this act, these lies... but it is preservation of such a delicate heart that keeps me going... you must see my dilemma. You beautiful, beautiful beast, everything is so simple to you... your innocence is like yesterday morning, sun over the horizon, shiny new day... everything springtime... but this maze is more complex than that. Who is right here? Should I just... but I couldn't... but I should, for the sake of honesty, forever, true love perhaps; kill this spider how could I even WRITE this? Evil, evil heart... don't even CONSIDER this. Do you really, do you really think this will ever happen? Do you truly believe after all these years that the knight will save the damsel, however distressed? Do you honestly FORESEE that he will come around? Realise what he's missed? Kick himself for not discovering what he could have had? You bewilder even me with your far-fetched dreams and convictions... they will kill you one day and then I'LL be the one laughing, you murder yourself over a fantasy when you could have been studying
Stop thinking this way honey, it's getting you absolutely nowhere. Don't you realise that don't you realise that you'll die ugly and red and most of all without a brain? You'll never find the rose, any rose, not even a Chinese Lantern at the rate you're going. You think you can then won't, decide when it's too late... buy flowers in June and expect them to still be ready on Valentine's Day. What you can get, you spit out, it's not so tasty anymore when it's free... but now, now, very now EVERYTHING has a price EVERYTHING and you know what? - there's a dead end, it will always cost, you will be never happy until you bid the ultimate price and get what you have so long wanted, so long so much that the feeling will not die because you have been to the opposite extreme and you didn't, no sir you didn't like it. So when I am desperate and sweating, ugly, itching for a cuppa - still nothing? - I don't know. No formula for this problem Einstein, it's every day for itself, laughing at me, mocking (otherwise quiet, if not happy, but I daren't feel...). So how do I make the choice, now, though I don't have it? Should I ignore for the sake of the left half of the upper marble - or dream, smelling whatever scent as long as it's not too ugly? The decision is not forced (and will never) but I should like to know, that is, if you'd like to tell me... is it so hard, is it that vital a part of the divine blueprints that I do not even get a fleeting look, a glance at my life? A peek? Just so I know, whether to... but then, looking at the answers is CHEATING so roll on tenderfate
I sing to you softly so you won't hear, or see where I'm going because that's why I hide - you have no taste of your own. I slide into my own darkness because that's where it's quiet and occasionally shiny, sleepy, but not desolate - just nice. I wish you would speak to me sometime but you are so oblivious to what I am or can give you... we could have been magic, don't you see? I could have changed your world like you exploded mine
I cannot help but laugh in your face and whisper with a smile how, how could you have not seen this coming. Did you honestly think darling for a moment that any good could come of your provocotive teasing and alcoholic smiles? I spotted it a mile off sweetheart, your blind optimism and over confident self faith that run you ragged time and time again because no matter how hard you try, how far you push or how high you stretch your breath yet reeks of desperation and your comparative lack of appeal that I can smell from across the room. How in all your wildest dreams did you foresee me forsaking all I could have, the cream of the crop for your custard smile and cellulite? Wake up and smell the cappuccino baby, it doesn't work that way around here, I don't care, I don't care if you live or die... you remain the undernourished yet overfed guinea pig and it is that which I could never, ever love
I am here, you are here, you are we and we are all together; see how they fly like pigs in the sky see how they run - I'm cryin'. Isn't that dandy. Once I dreamt of a bus and a wasp in a coke bottle. When did it happen...? I can only wonder. There will be a rich, rich day... death does not affect me, I have merely slipped into the next room... and then some
I saw a film today, oh boy. The English army had just won the war. A crowd of people turned away. But I just had to look, having read the book. I'd love to turn you on. Woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my hair. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup, looking up I noticed I was late. Whoa, funky chicken! High on a hill stood a lonely goat... MENTALISING
Once I stood, head in hand, my head on a wall... sleep didn't greet but death would've been fun. Boy I've been a naughty girl, I let my guard down: how could he say to me "love will find a way"? He knew it could but wouldn't, he knew I knew, but feared to confirm... siamese hopes, fraternal feelings, I did not want, I did not dare assume... will this count? I continue, I continue, he's so heavy part two soon
Close your eyes, give me your hand. Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming? 4000 holes in Blackburn, Lancashire and though the holes were rather small, they had to count them all. The ants go marching one bottle of beer on the wall... break down the wall. The man was caught showing feelings. Showing feelings of an almost human nature! The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Sleep. Cold sleep. The ultimate in snoozing! Eleanor Rigby. Picking up rice in a church where a wedding has been. Who would have thought? All the lonely people. Why's that then, Ted?
Slippery, he answered, slippery more than you, he did not doze for fear of missing the ultimate in importance... he would have packed more: room is of the essence, in the eye of the beholder, another sweater, or two? Spiralled across the universe, Indian charms, bring on the clowns! Hit him with that rhythm stick, bust a move, he thought: naah, that's stupid - condemnation in a bucket, broken voices, teenage angst. Sleep on it, she assured him/she came in through the bathroom window, hello Mr Sun King! He replied cheerily: to be continued
Well gee whatcha up to? Mad dogs & Englishmen. I wanna hold your... face in a jar by the door. Kill a little bird and watch it slip toward the trampoline where I used to shock myslef on ghostly nights while he watched me. Scary thoughts and bodies running through my toes, don't you know it. Is it possible to stop the man from wetting his fingers while he whistles to the sun? I saw you, tomorrow, doing things like smelling snow and wanting to lick dogs, oh my gosh. Can't you understand, I want to cut your hair adn feel the whispers as they flicker in my arm, can I do it? Watch out! I'm alive. Are your ears curly?
Simon says not to and so I won't. You and your peer pressure... hands on heads, says the woman in the mid-calf skirt - aching shoulders, licking lips DON'T DO THAT! I know no why until they cry from overuse and then the chapter ends and then the bell rings - is that the final? can we go home now? I doubt, I doubt that, what you're in now child now is the hour - you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. And so I live to die, and die to live, behind these bars I drink shaving water and dry bread with laughter so scarce it cracks my cheeks - I rise, life, fall, laugh, the end or is it
Every second paragraph on the above was contributed by Elanor Maud.
I cannot stop the need to express or to use bigger paper. Jenny and Ian Seymour are good but my scope is larger - the increasing urbanism of Matangi only stifles. If only there was a career in thinking, understanding Knopfler, singing along with Dylan, dreaming beauty - I am born for it, that is where I will rock this world. Channelling is the verb I have trouble with, redirecting my calling into something of use while still recognising the uselessness of poetry. Where is my platter? The podium I have been so long promised? When will God let me know? This is the worst decision, one slip could misery my life forever, can any amount of Romeos remedy a 40 hour week of pain? I want to please, to humour but it is all so SERIOUS nobody wants to know that side of me they will not UNDERSTAND this no matter how simply I out it to them the whole scheme of my life is too complex to offer to anyone - you have no idea how lonely that makes me feel. No wonder poets die young there isn't a like-minded soul in sight, I feel like giving up already and I KNOW they want me to be a doctor or lawyer and through all their smiles they are so disappointed I didn't work it out myself, sooner or later they will have to tell me. How will I live that I know not, ignorance likely, and die in my own pit of still waiting for the right answer
She asked him: "Why did you do this?" but he just looked away as if to avoid the question - she wondered if he even knew the answer himself. But what he knew and what she knew he knew was that what she meant to ask was "Can I have him back?" which was purely rhetorical, she knew what he would say, but he replied anyway, if anything to prove it to himself: "No, you can't. Never. It Is Finished." Open-ended. He might as well have completed: "Because of you. You could have stopped him." And the tears welled up even then - see how much he loved him. How do you start a sentence like that, she demanded, I'm not even sure I know all the answers, what if he asked me something I didn't know? But he wouldn't even look at her, he just wept at what he had done - who he had chosen, so many people hurting. She felt the need to say it: "I didn't want him to die." He just nodded and turned, they embraced for seemingly hours, but she still felt cold.
I need Gaviscon or Voltaren, either way is fine - just take away the butterflies. I know I shouldn't but you see I want to, I want to more than anything - I never felt this way before and why is that? We were so technically compatible. But there is no middle name, street number, brothers and sisters never a good idea when the wool is in your face. It is such a tempt just to always be with, become an addict, e could never make me so ill as what I have done today
Pent-up emotions, furious doubts all scratching at the door, should I let them in chief? They'd probably be healthy, like a good Dairy Food on a Friday, but I hate them. What about my sunburn it can only be fixed by ONE brand of Aloe Vera ONE and no-one's selling. Of course the market is there, advertising that's the way it works but I personally go for quality not quantity so remember that when you take my order. The escape from Absalom costs me dear, disloyal donkey would have no hesitation in leaving me dangling. And there I'd lie, food for the vultures, Joab had more than three darts up his sleeve! Not an open arm in the midst, cheeks cold and dry from the wind and no kissing. There will be none I am the fool but it could all bring rain and that's what I hold on to and that's why the Clydesdales tow the car as far as the road will take them until they see the sign or are shot by the black man. It could turn sour and there's no disprin in the cupboard but who is left to blame but you? You knew my little one you knew all you had to do is let the cookie go
Kill my heart. It's not playing fair. Use your head kid, that boring box of logical, it won't make you cry - or laugh either, but that's a fair compromise. It is the cause, it is the cause my soul... I will be sensible or die weak and jilted. I CANNOT be the joker in this game; I'll lose the round, the hand, the world - my world, sucked into a vacuum of blackness and Primo slogans - how long will I survive, me and not caring? I will not learn then I will but it will be too late because once unsought knowledge dawns in a new sky, night falls and the vultures circle
This is it Simon, I've had enough. No more I swear, the mess can all be cleaned wit one dustpan and brush - get rid of the common denominator, all is pure - why not? This bus is cheaper than a Northliner, this is one you'll never miss sweetheart, there'll always be another one coming along - the driver, he wants you, if no-one else This won't hurt a bit dearest, well not at first it's best for EVERYONE cos YOU are the sacrificial lamb, if YOU'RE out of the picture it's suddenly one worthy of a gallery... so pretty. I love you hon, I want you with me always... I touch your face and it's forever, you can't let go can you? I know your head hurts but you brought that on yourself - you did buy cheap meat after all how easy was that? It would feel so good. Let's get out of here with Indiana Jones, it this was a movie it would be special. But no, this water is undiluted, it contains every kind of chemical you can imagine and they all give you indigestion because that's just the hand you drew mate, a couple of twos, no Blackjacks in this life so who's staying for supper? Milk and cookies, twice as good on the other side.
So how about it? Wanna come, wanna, it promises to be the wildest ride and so easy, you'll fix everyone's bruise, pull all thorns from all sides, though piercing your own; but that's the bed you made. You don't deserve this, my beautiful untended rose, this isn't your rightful cross to bear but to leave there's only one way you know and that's down. You can join me if you want, my door is always open, you can just slip through and It Is Finished
"Oh thou of home the guardian Lar,
And when our earth hath wandered far..."
- James Russell Lowell
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